


these are the days when you wish your bed was already made

by butteredpopcorn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Pregnant Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butteredpopcorn/pseuds/butteredpopcorn
Summary: Lexa and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.





	these are the days when you wish your bed was already made

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this was posted twice so I deleted one. This is a very silly and very fluffy fic!
> 
> Title from Manic Monday by the Bangles.

Lexa wakes up to the sound of vomiting. 

She sits up, bleary-eyed and squinting, and turns on the time display on her alarm.

6:19. 

Almost a full hour before she normally gets up.

She hears more retching come from the bathroom, and she stumbles out of bed and into the dim light falling from the half-open door.

Clarke is on her knees leaning over the toilet, struggling to hold her own hair back as she vomits, and miserable tears streaming down her cheeks.

Lexa snags a hair tie from the small hoard of them that they keep on the bathroom counter and carefully ties her wife’s hair back, keeping away from the danger zone. “Are you okay?” Lexa asks through a yawn. 

Clarke groans and wipes her tears with the back of her wrist. “I fucking hate morning sickness.”

Lexa hums and hands a piece of toilet paper to Clarke. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” She says, kissing Clarke’s head gently.

Clarke groans again in response, wiping her face and clutching her belly. Lexa rubs her back sympathetically before leaving the bedroom and going downstairs to the kitchen. She flicks on the dim hall light but leaves the kitchen light off, not wanting to make her already aching head any worse.

She fills up the glass with water, leaning her head against the cold fridge and watches the water swirl into the glass. She takes a sip of it and then begins to trudge back upstairs. 

She steps on the first step, immediately slipping on something wet, and falling backward on her ass with a yelp. The cold water in the glass splashes out and soaks the front of her shirt. She sits there dazed for a moment, not believing how shitty her morning has gotten.

She feels a wet nose on her neck, sniffing and licking her. She shocks out of her trance and shoos Fish, their old golden retriever, away. He steps back, wagging his tail. She stands, bracing her hand against the wet floor. She smells her hand; it’s dog pee.

“Fuck my life,” Lexa grumbles. The pee that she landed in is on her hands and feet and has soaked through her sleep shorts onto her ass. “Fuck my goddamn fucking life.”

She limps through the living room, turning on the lamp as she goes, opening the screen door and pointing him outside. “Go, Fish.” When he just blinks at her, she yells, “Go Fish!” He walks to his dog bed and lies down, looking up at her with a baleful look. Lexa bites back the urge to shriek and closes the screen door with a bang.

She washes her hands and fills the water glass again and stalks upstairs, avoiding the puddle. She puts the water glass next to Clarke, who is now leaning against the bathroom wall. She looks less sickly but she’s still tinged green. There are slight bags under her eyes and blonde hair sticks to her sweaty forehead.

“You okay?” Clarke asks, “You look wet. And not in the fun way.”

“Slipped on dog piss and fell in it,” Lexa grunts, shucking off her clothes and turning on the shower.

Clarke makes a sympathetic noise before standing. Lexa clambers into the shower, shivering at the shock of the cold water. She hears Clarke begin to wash out her mouth in the sink and brush her teeth.

The water warms up quickly and Lexa takes a second to luxuriate in the feeling. She tilts her head and wets her hair, letting it slide over her shoulders and down her back. With a dollop of shampoo, she begins to wash her hair, massaging her scalp and kneading her own aching neck and shoulders.

She’s just finished her full hair routine when Clarke asks, “Were you playing cards downstairs?”

“What?”

“I heard you yell, ‘Go Fish.’ So were you playing cards?”

“That joke stopped being funny three years ago, Clarke.”

The curtain opens and Clarke steps into the shower as well, “I thought marrying someone means their jokes automatically never stop being funny.”

Lexa rolls her eyes but smiles a bit. She lets Clarke step past her to have access to the spray, her bare arm brushing against Lexa’s torso. “Your jokes stopped being funny about one year into dating you.”

Clarke scoffs in disbelief, running her head under the water. Lexa watches her fondly as she smooths her wet hair back from her face and lets the water run down her. It’s lucky that they both like the water to be almost scalding hot. “Please. I’m the funniest person you’ve ever met.”

“Unlikely,” Lexa says, “But I’ll wash your hair for you anyway. Turn.” Clarke turns her back to Lexa and Lexa puts a generous amount of shampoo on her hands before beginning to massage into Clarke’s scalp. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Exhausted and ready to crash after this shower, but yes I’m feeling better.”

“Good,” Lexa says with a smile.

“I’m excited about our baby but I could really do without the vomiting,” Clarke says. Lexa’s chest glows with happiness at the phrase ‘our baby’ and she has to bite back a little squeal of excitement. It had taken almost a year of trying, but it finally took.

“I think it’s worth it,” Lexa says, running her fingers through Clarke’s soft hair.

“Oh, it’s absolutely worth it. But if someone came up to me and said, ‘Hey, for $500 extra you can have a baby and there's no vomiting at random hours.’ I would just ask: ‘Do you take debit?’”

Lexa chuckles and kisses a spot on Clarke’s shoulder. “How much longer until the vomiting stops?”

“A few more weeks, I think,” Clarke sighs. “Week 9 is supposedly the worst of the morning sickness, which is great.” Clarke tilts her head under the spray and begins to rinse her hair out. When Clarke comes up for air, she asks, “How big did the book say the baby is?”

“The size of a cherry.”

“A cherry! Our little cherry.” Clarke sighs again and rubs the spot just below her belly button. “That would be a cute name.”

Lexa makes a face. “I don't know…”

Clarke laughs and turns to face Lexa, draping her arms around Lexa’s neck. “No? Okay, so fruit names are out.”

Lexa settles her hands on Clarke’s hips and says, “Not all fruit names. Just… not cherry.”

“So you're okay with… Apricot?”

“No.”

“...Mango?”

“No.”

“Clementine?”

Lexa pauses and thinks. “Maybe.”

“Alright! You hear that, little cherry? Mommy approves of at least one fruit name.”

Lexa giggles, a glowing light feeling radiating down her chest, and leans forward to kiss her wife softly on the cheek.

They finish showering together, taking turns under the spray and turning away when the other needs a bit of privacy.

They climb out together, giggling and their wet limbs colliding. Lexa feels ten times lighter, her mounting headache having faded slightly at the loving touch of her beautiful wife.

Clarke climbs back into bed, only choosing to wear one of Lexa’s softest college tee-shirts. Lexa knows she’ll stretch it out and it will start to sag when Lexa wears it, but she can't bear to refuse her wife. She already had found it hard to deny Clarke anything before the pregnancy, but now when she thinks about the baby growing in Clarke’s stomach… Clarke could ask her to jump off a cliff and she’d do add a flip just to impress her.

Lexa checks the clock and decides she’s too awake to go back to sleep. She starts to get ready for work, giving Clarke an early goodbye kiss, and going downstairs. She bends to clean up the mess on the stairs - almost slipping again in the process - and sets to work making herself breakfast and a lunch for later.

She finds herself ready early, work bag packed and lunch sitting on the counter. She hums over what to do, eyeing the extra work on her laptop. She decides to give herself a break for once and sits on the couch to watch TV. She settles back into their plush couch, and Fish jumps up next to her.

“Good boy,” She says, stroking his big head. He puts his chin on her thigh and looks up at her with big brown eyes. “Aw, I forgive you Fish. I’m sorry for yelling earlier.”

Fish closes his eyes and sighs one of those wonderful, deep, dog sighs. Lexa begins to flick through channels, trying to find one that will entertain her enough until work starts.

It takes only a minute before Lexa decides that there’s nothing good on. She doesn’t want to turn on Netflix because most of the good shows are on her ‘watch with Clarke’ list, and they only have non-cable channels. Finally, she settles on the local weather channel.

She likes weather, she supposes.

While the man on television is talking about something to do with wind patterns that vaguely interests Lexa, he has a very monotone, droning kind of voice. He kind of sounds like that podcast Lexa listens to sometimes to help her sleep. She yawns widely and settles in deeper to the couch. Fish moves and puts his big head properly in her lap, cuddling with her.

His voice is so… boring… and it’s making her so… sleepy…

She stretches and sinks into the cushions, her eyes heavy. She’ll close her eyes for just a minute…

~~

Lexa wakes up with a start, disrupting the dozing dog on her lap.

Lexa frantically checks the time on her phone. 9:08 stares up at her in big white letters.

“Shit!” Lexa curses, scrambling up. She should already be at work, and it’s about a twenty-minute commute with early morning traffic. Although she’s one of the most senior employees at the firm and can come in whenever she likes, she doesn’t like to be late. It’s unprofessional and a bad habit.

She grabs her bag from beside the door and sprints out the door to her car. It’s drizzling out, not enough to soak her but enough to make the hair not captured in her neat bun frizz out in wild curls at her temple.

She unlocks her car and starts it. She sends a quick text to her assistant that she’ll be late and puts the car in reverse. She looks over her shoulder as she backs out, but feels the car collide with something and hears a loud clatter. She freezes, slamming on her brakes.

In her rush, she’d forgotten to move the trash bins that had been in the driveway.

“Are you-“ She slams her hand on her horn as she yells, “-kidding me?” She slams her horn twice more in anger, then gets out of her car and picks up the cans. The garbage truck has already come by so the bins are empty, thankfully. 

She drags them to the side and out of her way and gets back in her car. She hears her phone chime and she quickly glances at it.

Clarke (9:12)  
u ok? heard a clatter and some beeps

She texts Clarke back quickly, telling her everything is fine, then finally pulls out of her driveway.

The drive to work is blessedly uneventful besides the heavy traffic that adds half an hour to her already long commute.

She has to park a bit further away in the lot, but it’s not enough of a walk to be too bothersome. She hurries into her office, smoothing down her hair and adjusting her bag.

Work turns out to be a disaster as well. 

All of her superiors are either in the courthouse or staying home sick from the cold that’s been going around, so she is the most senior employee in the office. So when two interns - who have apparently been sleeping together - start a shouting match in the middle of the break room, she has to deal with the fallout.

She spends most of the morning in a meeting with the tearful interns and HR. When she gets out of that awful meeting, she is immediately pulled into another one when a client calls her about an upcoming case. The man obviously thinks he can do her job better than she can and calls to give her ‘recommendations’ on how to approach the case. She argues with him for a full hour before he announces he has a flight to catch and promptly hangs up on her.

The final straw is when the ancient, shitty printer breaks as she tries to make mass copies for her meeting that afternoon. And as if dying wasn't enough to frustrate her, it also sprays multicolored ink all over her shoes in the process.

“I’m taking lunch.” She growls to her assistant, who nods nervously. Her assistant is new and terrified of her, which is how Lexa likes it.

She stalks over to the office kitchen and pulls open the fridge.

Her lunch isn’t in its usual spot.

She frowns, opening cabinets and searching the area for it. She asks a new hire if he’s seen it and he shakes his head nervously, shrugging.

It’s then that she remembers that she forgot to grab her lunch off the counter. She can practically see it sitting there in her mind’s eye - her innocuous, lovingly made lunch. Her sandwich with the perfect balance of meat and cheese and lettuce and tomato, her mango yogurt (her favorite) and her fresh fruit cocktail… she’d even taken the time to put some homemade trail mix in a bag to snack on during the afternoon.

She’s shaken from her thoughts as her phone dings.

Clarke (11:51 AM)  
u forgot ur lunch

There’s an attached picture of her lunch bag sitting on the counter with a sad face - complete with a nose - drawn on it in sharpie. Lexa smiles a little at her ridiculous wife, the ache of forgetting her lunch lifting slightly.

Lexa (11:51 AM)  
Yeah I know. I’ll go get something from somewhere.

Clarke (11:52 AM)  
ok. have a good day love!! 

Lexa pockets her phone and tells her assistant, “I’m going out to get lunch. Save any calls and I’ll deal with them when I get back.”

The drizzling has turned into a sheet of rain by the time she’s out of the office and she has to sprint to her car, avoiding the small puddles building up in the potholes. She decides to drive across the city to her favorite sandwich shop. She deserves something special after her crappy morning. She orders her usual - turkey with gouda on that wonderfully soft bread that they serve - and grabs a bag of chips as well.

She drives back to the office and hits a bit of traffic on the busy streets. It’s a bit of stop-and-go, and she has a chance to take a big bite of her sandwich while waiting. She moans a little in pleasure. She needs to go to that sandwich place for lunch more often. It’s expensive and about forty minutes away from home, but she can afford the extra treat in her budget.

She struggles to find parking in the lot and has to park across the street. Getting out of the car, she opens an umbrella and uses that to shelter herself from the rain. She doesn’t have a bag, so with the umbrella in one hand, chips in the other, and her sandwich tucked under one arm, she waits for the cars to pass so she can cross.

After a minute of waiting, there’s a lull and she can jog through. Halfway across the street her foot lands in a pothole of water and she almost falls, yelping, but catches herself. She quickly jogs across the busy street. She realizes that the weight under her arm is missing, and turns just in time to see a car run over her helpless sandwich. 

She sees the mustard squirt out across the road, the avocado smeared onto the pavement, and the bread - the expensive, soft, perfectly baked bread! - soaked and disgusting in the muddy puddle. She sees the lettuce fly into the blistering wind, and another car races by to smack into it. She can see the lettuce plastered on the side of the car.

She feels as though she might as well have been plastered on the car instead.

She goes upstairs as if she’s in a dream. Her assistant tries to tell her something about a voicemail and she waves her away.

She’s face down on her desk when she pulls out her phone and texts her wife.

Lexa (1:02)  
I dropped my expensive sandwich and it got run over by a car.  
And my foot is all wet because I stepped in a puddle.

Clarke (1:04)  
OH NO!!

Lexa (1:05)  
Yes. I am having a very shitty day.

Clarke (1:05)  
poor baby. I’d bring you something but I have another meeting.

Lexa (1:06)  
That’s okay. I have some snacks to tide me over.

Clarke (1:06)  
ok. I love you and I hope your day improves

There are two empty boxes with question marks in them at the end and despite herself, Lexa smiles.

Lexa (1:06)  
I love you too but you know that I don’t have emojis on my phone.

Clarke (1:06)  
IT’S ALMOST 2018! PUT EMOJIS ON YOUR DAMN PHONE!!!

There are three more question mark boxes following that and Lexa laughs outright. She puts her phone down and sighs.

There’s no use in being dramatic. Her lunch is gone.

She eats her chips and manages to get a crappy cereal bar from the faulty vending machine, but it eats $4.50 before she finally slams her fist into the side of it and the bar drops.

She spends the rest of her afternoon with a grumbling stomach, not willing to try her luck with the damn vending machine after her first attempt. Her assistant gives her an orange, and that along with everything else alleviates some of her hunger pains.

The rest of her afternoon is mostly uneventful. 

She spends an hour supervising an idiotic intern when he gets confused on some technical legal jargon. She gets so frustrated with him she starts yelling, and the impromptu study session ends with him making excuses and running to the bathroom to not so secretly cry.

She holes herself up in her office to avoid yelling at anyone else and resigns herself to muddle through her backlog of paperwork. Her stomach keeps growling loudly at her and she spends half her time daydreaming about dinner. Her assistant tries to get her to take some phone calls, but she waves her off.

When the clock strikes four, she gets up to go to her final meeting.

She can’t fucking wait to go home.

She has to make do in the meeting without her paper handouts - which leads to some confusion for the newer members of the firm - but she makes do. Her stomach also grumbles embarrassingly loudly at one point but when someone giggles she immediately silences them with a withering glare.

She’s going over her closing statements, eyeing the clock as it slowly approaches five, when her assistant ducks into the room.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” She holds out a memo. “It’s urgent.”

Lexa sighs.

The world will give her no breaks today.

~~

She finally crosses the threshold of her home at seven.

She’s exhausted. She had to run down to the county jail when a high-profile client had gotten high and crashed his car into a tree. She had spent two whole hours dealing with the police and fruitlessly arguing with him.

She fucking hates rich people.

As if that wasn’t enough, she had to park three blocks away because the people across the street are having a huge party and all the closer spots were taken.

Her hair is soaked because she forgot her umbrella at the office, she’s starving, and her head is throbbing with pain.

“Clarke! I’m home.” She says. Fish welcomes her, entire body wiggling from the force of his tail wags. He runs right into her legs, and she can’t help but smile a little. “Hey there, buddy.” She leans down to pet him. He wags even harder, then runs off to his toy bin.

She hangs up her bag and coat, she kicks off her shoes and lines them up neatly. She smiles at Clarke’s shoes that are scattered on the floor and lines those up too.

Clarke comes out of the kitchen, already in her pajamas with her hair up and makeup scrubbed off. “Hey, babe! How-“ She stops herself. “Well, I guess I already know how your day was.” 

Lexa sighs, “Yeah, it was rough. I got held up at the police station while I was dealing with Mr. Hayes.”

Clarke hums and comes over to Lexa. She wraps her arm around Lexa’s neck and pulls her in for a long kiss. Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist and melts into it. Clarke breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away, instead reaching behind Lexa’s head to start undoing her hair.

Fish comes up to them and headbutts into their legs, holding his ragged toy raccoon in his mouth and wagging his tail. Clarke giggles and Lexa smiles at her.

“Go away, Fish.”

“Oh, he’s just preparing us. We’re going to be interrupted quite a bit once our little cherry is born.” Clarke says.

“We’re not naming them cherry,” Lexa mumbles and cuts off Clarke’s laugh with another long, slow kiss. Her stomach grumbles and Clarke moves to pull away but Lexa squeezes her closer.

“My day was so shit. I need to remember why I drag myself out of bed in the morning.” Lexa mutters.

Clarke pulls away and coos at her softly. “Oh, your day was bad if you’re talking like that. Let’s get some food in you. I got that Indian food you like from the place near our old apartment.”

“But that’s all the way across town!” Lexa gasps.

Clarke smiles and smoothes Lexa’s hair back. “You had a shitty day and I wanted to surprise you.”

She leads Lexa into the kitchen where a display of takeout sits. There is only one plate and set of silverware ready, and a single candle lit in the center.

Lexa loads her plate with food and immediately tucks in. She’s so hungry after barely eating anything but breakfast all day. Clarke sits at the other end of the table and watches her attack the food fondly, snacking on some meat samosas. 

After Lexa practically inhales two plates worth of delicious takeout, she sits back satisfied and stretches. “God that was good.” 

“Feeling better with food in your stomach?” Clarke reaches out a foot and caresses Lexa’s ankle with it. Lexa smiles at her and reaches out a foot for a full-on footsie session.

“So much better. Thank you.”

“Food makes everything better.”

“No, you make everything better. Just walking through the door helped.” She puts a hand under her chin and smiles at her wife.

Clarke grins and says, “Wait until you see what else I’ve got in store. You’ll really be singing my praises then.”

“Oh?” Lexa asks, tilting her head.

“Oh, indeed. Wait here.” She winks at Lexa before running upstairs.

Lexa chuckles and rinses her plate, sticking it in the half-full dishwasher. Fish gets up from underneath the table and rubs his big head on her legs. She kneels down to pet him, scratching behind his ears just like he likes when Clarke comes back downstairs.

“Okay, follow me,” Clarke says, leading Lexa back upstairs. She leads Lexa through the bedroom to the master bath, where a bathtub filled with multicolored, scented bubbles sits. Candles are lit on the counter, filling the room with dim, flickering light. There’s a small side table with a glass of wine on it. 

“Oh, Clarke,” Lexa gasps, turning to face her wife.

“Enjoy yourself, baby. You deserve it for being so kind and wonderful and-“

Lexa leans in and gives her a long, slow kiss. “Thank you.” 

As Lexa undresses, she turns and catches Clarke blatantly checking out her ass. Smirking, she gives an extra shimmy as she drops her panties and steps out of them. Completely naked, she turns to face Clarke again. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“Huh?” Clarke asks, dazed and ogling her like they haven’t been married for three years and dating for almost eight. 

“Take your clothes off and get in.”

“Oh, in the- Oh!” Clarke quickly shucks her clothes off and Lexa ushers her into the tub. She sinks into the bath with a sigh, stretching out in it. Lexa climbs in after, tying her hair up so it doesn’t get wet.

She tentatively leans back on Clarke’s chest, trying to get comfortable while keeping her weight off of Clarke’s belly.

“Lie back, love,” Clarke says, wrapping her arms around Lexa and pulling her close. “You won’t crush me."

“But what about the baby?” Lexa asks anxiously, twisting to look at Clarke.

“Unborn babies are actually pretty fucking difficult to crush. I googled it.”

Lexa finally leans back and settles, feeling Clarke’s legs and hips shift to accommodate her. Clarke is completely wrapped around her, smooth legs sliding together and full breasts pressed against Lexa’s back.

“Feel better?” Clarke presses a lingering kiss to the sensitive spot right below Lexa’s ear.

“Yes,” Lexa says. “Although my head still hurts a bit.”

Clarke coos gently and kisses Lexa’s temple. “Anywhere else?”

“Neck, shoulders, and thighs.” Lexa lists, leaning her head back on Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke coos again and begins to rub deep into Lexa’s thighs. Lexa moans slightly in pleasure and sighs. Clarke pauses for a moment to hand Lexa her glass of wine and then continues to massage.

Lexa takes a long sip of the wine. It’s the good stuff, not the cheap wine they normally take out for dinner. Or took out, Lexa supposes. She doubts she'll let herself drink much beyond this while Clarke can't. It helps her feel like she’s doing something for the baby too.

“Is that too hard?” Clarke asks, rubbing the thick muscle of Lexa’s thigh. Lexa hums a no and settles deeper into Clarke’s arms.

They soak for a long while, Clarke occasionally pressing kisses to Lexa’s neck and shoulder. When the water goes tepid, Clarke lets some of the water out and refills it so it’s steaming again. She keeps the bath bubbly and Lexa’s wine glass full for almost a full hour before Clarke inevitably starts to squirm behind her.

“How’s my little prune doing?” Clarke murmurs in Lexa’s ear, nibbling her. Lexa squeaks and giggles at the attention, sloshing some wine into the bath. “Oh you’re doing drunk, that’s how you’re doing.” Clarke laughs, planting a sloppy kiss on Lexa’s cheek.

“Not drunk. Tipsy.” Lexa corrects, taking a long drink of wine.

“Okay, tipsy. You can keep soaking but I’m getting up.” Lexa whines in disapproval but puts her wine glass down and stands as well. As she stands, she suddenly feels the wine rush to her head all at once and wobbles a bit. Clarke steadies her with a grin. They turn on the shower to rinse off the bubbles that cling to their skin and step out.

“I have one more surprise before bed,” Clarke says as they dry off.

“There’s more?”

“This surprise - in my opinion - is the best one.”

“Oh, now I’m excited. It must be pretty great to top what you’ve already given me.” Lexa steps forward and wraps her arms around her wife’s waist. She leans her forehead against Clarke’s and rocks them a little.

As Clarke stares up at her, a smile takes over Clarke’s face. She takes Lexa’s wrist and gently guides her to her stomach. Just above her pelvis is the slightest swell. A swell so slight that only someone who knows Clarke’s body by heart would know.

“You’re starting to show,” Lexa gasps, looking down at where her hand is touching.

“I am. And soon enough… I’ll be as big as a beach ball.”

“Yeah,” Lexa mutters absentmindedly, awestruck and not quite listening.

“Hey!” Clarke laughs, swatting Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa smiles and leans in to kiss her wife. “You’ll be the most beautiful beach ball in the world. I love you so much.” She murmurs.

“I love you too,” Clarke whispers. She undoes Lexa’s hair and runs a hand through it, fluffing it the way she likes it. Lexa thinks for a second about the rat’s nest she’ll wake up to, and decides it’s worth it. 

Clarke leads them to bed, they climb in naked, with Clarke’s hair still damp. Lexa wraps herself around Clarke, spooning her and touching the ever so slight bump of her belly.

Clarke pulls the blanket up and Lexa falls asleep, her arms around her wife. She smiles.


End file.
